Divided We Stand
by lilien passe
Summary: World War II has ended, and to the victors go the spoils. Featuring crazy!Gilbert, impassive!Ludwig, oblivious!America, and ohgodgetawafromme!Russia. Complete.
1. Chapter 1: Seperation Anxiety

-Author's Notes-

Please keep in mind this is not meant to be an accurate representation of actual historical events, nor should it be construed as having any kind of social or political agenda. This is merely a work of fiction, written to entertain the author and maybe a few others unlucky enough to stumble upon it.

I know, I know! It's been done! But… but I couldn't help it!

Warnings – Gilbert-esq language (that means it's bad, kids). Angst up the wazoo. Creepy, creepy Russia. 50s era views on Communism. Eventual slash.

Disclaimer- You know the drill.

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**Divided We Stand**

_Chapter One._

_- Separation Anxiety._

Gilbert's chair creaked loudly as the exhausted man leaned back and rested his crossed ankles on the sturdy oak table, muddy boots and all. He laced his hands behind his head in an attempt to impose some semblance of forced relaxation upon his weary body. Across the table Ludwig sat motionless with his eyes fixed on the wooden surface, a steady twitching of his eyebrow the only indication that he was even awake.

Gilbert's chair creaked.

"I fuckin' hate tables."

It was the first thing either of them had said in hours. Ludwig looked up blearily, his eyebrow still twitching in time with the squeaking of the older man's chair. "Please tell me our situation hasn't vested you of that last shred of sanity you used to cling to," he pleaded in a haggard voice.

"I'm serious. It's a table's fault we're even in this goddamn mess."

Ludwig gave a long-suffering sigh, resisting the urge to bang his head against the aforementioned table until he was granted the sweet bliss of unconsciousness. Brain damage be damned. "You can't just go around randomly placing the blame for humanity's cruel and insane actions on whatever inanimate object happens to strike your fancy."

Gilbert leaned even further back in his chair, ignoring the protesting squeals of the flimsy wood, narrowing his eyes. "First off, not random. That time, with the eggplant? Don't give me that look, I know you remember. Again, totally the eggplant's fault. Secondly, if it hadn't been for that one damned table, your lunatic of an ex-boss would've been roasted to perfection long ago in a clean, well thought out explosion. But no. No, he was saved by your fuckin' perfectionist engineering." Gilbert sighed heavily, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why'd you have to build everythin' so goddamn sturdy?"

"Excuse me for taking pride in my house's traditional crafts," snapped Ludwig, his voice crackling with irritation.

"Hey man, just sayin'. I know compensation when I see it. And for you, compensation is a big, sturdy, oak table," Gilbert said, punctuating each word with a tap of one grimy boot against the table's surface.

Ludwig opened his mouth to deliver what would have undoubtedly been a scathing retort, when the door behind him was suddenly pushed open from the outside. Both men grew silent, all traces of banter, friendly or otherwise, evaporating in an instant as the tall figures of America and Russia strode into the room. The two former Allies were surreptitiously eyeing each other, standing a carefully measured distance apart.

"Alright then," America said in his abrasive voice. He barely gave the two seated men a glance before pulling out his own chair at the head of the table and falling into it with a heavy sigh. "Let's just get this over with quickly." He turned to address Russia, who had seated himself at the opposite end of the table. "England keeps naggin' me about helpin' him fix his house."

A few chairs down, Ludwig shifted uneasily in his seat, adverting his eyes to stare once again at the surface of the table.

"Agreed," Russia said calmly, cinching his scarf tighter around his neck.

America finally looked up at the two Germanic nations, his blue eyes scrutinizing both of them. "So you both have to know why we're here," he said, popping his gum with a loud snap, absently fiddling with the top button of his jacket. "We need to make sure somethin' like this won't happen again."

Gilbert nodded. "Got it," he said, letting his chair fall to rest on all fours with a loud thump. "So sorry. Promise we'll make sure next time that our boss isn't a total whack job before startin' another war. Now if you'll just excuse us-" He rose to leave.

"I'm afraid our little half-nation here hasn't quite grasped the severity of the situation," Russia said in his sunny voice. "Please, sit down."

Gilbert's eyes narrowed dangerously, hands clenching into fists at his side. "Who're you callin' a half nation you albino motherfu-"

"Sit down, Gilbert." Ludwig's soft, commanding baritone cut through the older man's angry tirade. "Please."

Gilbert glared at the younger man for an instant with a look of betrayed shock, before lowing himself resentfully back into his chair, his eyes dark with barely suppressed rage.

America gave a slight cough, "Now that uh… mini-Germany over here has calmed down, let's get to business." He leaned forward to glance down the long table to where Russia sat watching the proceedings with a serene expression plastered on his face. "How do you wanna handle this?" America asked, pointedly ignoring the other two nations seated at the table.

Russia just smiled, "Well, my dear ally, I suppose it's only right that you go first."

America snorted, "Thanks for that, _comrade_. Still," he glanced down both sides of the table at the two Germanic nations with scrutinizing eyes. Ludwig was still staring at the surface of the table, his normally ramrod straight posture crumbled slightly, shoulders hunched over in weariness. Gilbert had once again propped his feet up on the ancient oak, staring defiantly across the monstrosity, his red eyes fixed stubbornly on anything other than Ludwig.

"Still," America continued, "If I'da known they were already like this, we could've just settled this over the phone. Guess we'll just go with what our bosses already proposed. I'll get together later with the other two and hash out the rest of the details." The blonde stood, pushing his chair in behind him and walked over to where the other former Allied nation was seated.

Russia stood as well, holding out one pale hand to the American. "Then we're in agreement."

America nodded, grabbing the offered hand in a brief shake before letting go with a quick wrench of his arm. The tall blonde walked towards the door, shrugging into his jacket. He paused behind Ludwig's chair to rap the other man on the shoulder with a gentle fist. "Come on," he said. "We're leavin'."

Ludwig stood wordlessly, turning around to follow the American without a backwards glance.

Across the room, Gilbert rose to his feet in an abrupt flurry of movement, gripping the table with white-knuckled hands. "You're splitting us? Why?!" he demanded, his voice almost cracking with the strain of his anger.

America looked over his shoulder at the silver-haired man, his mouth drawn in a taunt line. "You're dangerous together," he said simply. "Even with your ex-boss dead and rottin' away under twenty feet of debris." The American turned, gesturing for Ludwig to follow him. "C'mon, West. Let's let the comrades talk about their new livin' arrangements in peace."

Ludwig made no outward sign that he'd even heard the other man, save for a tight nod of his head. His ice-blue eyes were shadowed and expressionless, his back ramrod straight. He turned to follow the American through the heavy iron studded doors.

"You're not allowed to call him that."

Gilbert's soft, dangerous voice echoed hollowly in the barren room.

America paused in the doorway, twisting around to look at the other man in puzzlement. "Sorry?"

"You're. Not allowed. To call. Him that," Gilbert calmly repeated his words as though speaking to a small child, his taunt thin frame the only outward sign of the violence that crouched poised beneath his skin.

America eyed Gilbert warily for a moment. Russia stood in the background, a bemused smile on his face, watching the proceedings in taciturn silence.

An instant later America relaxed again, shrugging one shoulder in a casual gesture, "Sure. Whatever." He turned to look at Ludwig, holding open the heavy door for the other nation. "So what should I call you then?"

"Call me whatever you wish." Ludwig strode through the open door with heavy, sure steps, eyes fixed stonily ahead.

Amercia laughed, following the tall man through the doorway. "Kind of a stick in the mud, aren't ya?" he said, his voice quickly fading with every retreating step.

The door closed shut behind the two with a quiet air of finality.

Gilbert remained standing, eyes still locked on the door, his fingers gripping the edge of the table tight enough to splinter. Russia moved from behind the shorter man to rest one, chilled hand on his shoulder. "Shall we go as well?" the older man asked, a smile lingering in his lilting voice.

Gilbert shrugged off the other man's hand with a graceful, fluid motion. "Fuck you," he spat out, backpedaling quickly towards the door.

Russia let his hand fall to his side and laughed lightly, "Are you sure you should be using such severe language? You belong to me now, after all. Perhaps a bit of respect is due."

Gilbert's lip curled in a bitterly amused sneer, "We'll see about that."

The older man merely chuckled before moving to stroll past Gilbert, heading through the doorway. He paused halfway through, "Ah, I just remembered something, East." Russia turned again to stand in front of the other man, towering over him. He reached out with one long finger to slowly trace the lines of Gilbert's thin neck.

The younger man snarled, wrenching himself away from the older man's touch. "The fuck do you think you're doin'?!"

Russia raised one pale eyebrow, "Merely reminding you that you must leave that behind."

"I don't speak creepy asshole. Care to translate?"

The taller man's violet eyes flashed black for a moment, before he moved his hand to rest against his own throat. "This."

Gilbert's hand moved instinctively to rest on the worn iron cross around his neck, his eyes fluttering delicately shut. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed heavily, fingers clutching desperately to the jagged piece of metal. He remained silent.

Russia stared at the younger man for a moment before shrugging in puzzlement, turning to walk out the door. "I shall wait out here. Please do your best to not linger."

Gilbert's eyes slid open to follow the Russian's retreating form. He stood still for a moment, before suddenly wrenching the cross from his uniform, tearing the fabric beneath. He slammed the thing into the oak table, hard enough to splinter the wood, etching a white scar deep into the surface. Hard enough to rend into the palm of his hand, tearing an ugly red wound into his pale flesh, smearing a bloody palm-print on the pristine oak. Gilbert shakily raised his hand and turned it over to look at the marred flesh, watching with detached interest as the ruby-red blood pooled in the center of his palm.

"Fuck," he breathed heavily, tracing the edges of the wound with a shaky thumb. "That hurt."

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End Notes:

Poor Gil. And it's only going to get worse from here on out… *shakes head sadly*


	2. Chapter 2: Cabin Fever

-Author's Notes-

Please see chapter one for warnings and disclaimer. Take that, and add a bit of violence, and some gratuitous abuse of both Gilbert and Ivan. Perfect.

The angst is back. And this time, it's not alone. *menacing music*

Seriously though. This borders on dark. If that's not your thing, then, uh… go watch the Care Bears movie. That'll cheer you up.

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**Divided We Stand**

_Chapter Two._

_-Cabin Fever._

The lights in the corridor flickered on with a resounding snap, streaking the figure huddle in the corner with bands of harsh fluorescent light. The soft noise of encroaching footsteps reverberated around the barren hallway, before halting in front of the lone occupied cell.

Russia smiled. "And how are we doing today, little East? I trust the accommodations are to your liking."

Gilbert raised his head from where he was huddled in the corner, a look of intense boredom plastered on his face. "Oh yeah. Just wonderful. Love what you've done with the place. Some lager, a little Bach on the stenograph and it's practically home."

Russia's smiled widened, and he leaned against the bars of the cell to peer in at the younger man. "I heard," he said, his voice alive with mirth, "That you tried to escape again. This time with more of your best and brightest."

"Well I heard you practically had to send a fuckin' army to catch me." Gilbert yawned, stretching his long limbs out in front of him. "Wonder what you'll have to use next time. Think a tank would cut it?"

Russia just smiled, "I'm afraid that won't be necessary. We're taking new measures to ensure that it won't happen again."

"Y'know, you'd think that after twelve years of hearin' that, it'd start to get old." Gilbert said indifferently, leaning back to rest his head against the bare concrete wall behind him. "Lucky for me, I can barely remember yesterday, so your pathetic attempts at intimidation still sound brand spankin' new."

Russia laughed delightedly, "As always, you never fail to amuse me, little East."

Gilbert stood, raising his arms above his head to pop his back before sprawling out on the threadbare bed. He sighed heavily, staring up at the blank ceiling. "Don't tell me you came all the way down here just to congratulate me on my ingenious escape plans."

"I'm afraid not," Russia said cheerily, moving to lean against the far wall, a pensive expression gradually blanketing his face. He glanced at the platinum-haired man inquisitively. "I wonder… how is it you remain?" he said suddenly, violet eyes lost in thought.

"I'm sorry, didn't catch that. Care to repeat it without the cryptic bullshit overtones?"

Russia deftly ignored the other man, continuing to speak with barely a moment's pause. "I was thinking about it the other day as I watched them throw your broken body into this very cell."

"Doesn't thinkin' usually require the presence of basic brain activity?" Gilbert mused out-loud, sitting up to perch on the edge of the worn bed. "Paramecium level at least, I'd expect. You're a credit to your people, bein' able to overcome a handicap like that."

Russia continued as though he hadn't heard, a look of absentminded curiosity on his face. "I kept landing on the same question. Over and over again. I was thinking to myself, what are you, exactly?" He tilted his pale head forward to focus his eyes on Gilbert. The younger man was gazing off into space, his expression making it look like he was fervently wishing for some sort of heavy artillery.

"So now I would like an answer, little East." Russia smiled with child-like fascination. "Just what are you?"

Gilbert stared at the other man for a moment before rolling his eyes. "That's your million dollar question? 'What are you'?" He snorted derisively. "If this is the kinda stuff that's keepin' you up at night, then our house losin' to a pack of geniuses like you is beyond pathetic."

The taller man stared through the iron bars at Gilbert with focused and purposeful violet eyes. "Shall I tell you what you are?" he asked softly, the edges of his normally vapid smile curving upwards in quiet maliciousness, eyes trained on the younger man's every movement.

"By all means," Gilbert said dryly. "Enlighten me."

"The pitiable remnants of a once mighty kingdom. That, little one, is all you are." Russia's lilting tenor echoed dully around the bleak room

Gilbert remained silent.

Russia chuckled, "I'm sure dear Frederick is stirring in his grave at seeing what you've been reduced to. And yet," Russia paused, the smile fading from his face. "And yet, even knowing all this, I am still puzzled. Without him to sustain you, how is it that you manage to exist at all?"

"I exist for my people," Gilbert said, shrugging one shoulder with an air of flippant indifference. "Reason enough for me."

"Your people," Russia said softly, "Yes, I suppose they would be dear to you. But it is still curious how even after his former boss told you they were no longer yours, ordering you to dissolve, you still managed to cling to the vestiges of what you were, to become what you still are. How is this possible?"

"What can I say? I'm just that fuckin' awesome,' Gilbert drawled, standing up and walking over to lean on the bars of his cell.

Russia laughed, "Resilient as ever, I see."

Gilbert waited until the tall man's mirth subsided before speaking. "As much as I enjoy listenin' to you wax philosophical, you wanna move on to what you really came down here to tell me?"

Russia tilted his head to the side, studying the younger man for a moment before pushing himself away from the wall to stand in front of the iron bars opposite Gilbert. He smiled.

"I'm afraid your visitation permit has been declined."

Gilbert's eyes flickered up to gaze at the older man, his expression unreadable in the harsh shadows cast by the glaring light. Suddenly, he reached one thin arm through the bars of the cell, grabbing hold of the other man's collar and yanking him close to slam against the iron door with a resounding crash. Russia's eyes widened in shock as he reached up instinctively to wrap his hands around Gilbert's wrist in a feeble attempt to pry open the younger man's vice-like grip.

"It's been twelve fuckin' years!" Gilbert yelled, blood-red eyes feverish with rage, his face contorted in an angry snarl. He slammed the older man into the door again, the loud noise reverberating around the hollow room. "Twelve fuckin' years of bein' alone! Of fightin' to keep what I am! To keep from becomin' you!"

Russia's hands slipped from around Gilbert's wrist to fall limply to his sides. Gilbert heard the door at the end of the hallway bang open, the sound of hurried footsteps echoing loudly in the empty hall. He quickly slammed Russia's head into the bars one last time for good measure before shoving the other man away.

Russia hit the far wall with a dull thud, blood streaming down his face from a mangled nose and split lip. Two guards raced down the corridor, yelling in panic at the sight of the tall man slumped against the wall. Gilbert watched one of the guards help Russia stagger to his feet with detached interest, before walking to the back of his cell and letting himself fall back down on the tattered bed with a brazenly loud sigh of contentment.

The other guard whipped around to face Gilbert's cell. "You! What did you do to Comrade Braginski?" he demanded, his halting German barely comprehensible.

Gilbert yawned, cracking open one eye to gaze blearily at the guard. "Do? I didn't do nothin'."

The guard's eyes narrowed, "I do not believe you."

"Smart man," Gilbert said, absently poking at a dark bruise that was beginning to blossom across his knuckles.

The guard made to lunge for the cell door, when a firm hand on his shoulder halted him. "C-Comrade Braginski…"

Russia walked slowly past the guard, bracing himself against the cell with one unsteady arm. He silently studied the platinum-haired man through the iron bars with violet eyes already surrounded by the beginnings of dark bruises, ignoring the blood still trickling down his face.

"You will never see him again," Russia said tenderly, the malicious, child-like smile once again adorning his features.

Gilbert pointedly stared straight ahead, a slight flicker of his eyes the only sign he'd even heard. Russia's smile widened.

"I promise you this."

With that, the tall man turned and staggered down the hallway, the two guards supporting him on either side. The door to the cell block slammed shut, the lights flickering out with a soft hiss.

Gilbert let the smug expression fall away, leaving his face destitute of any emotion. He lay back, slowly pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, fighting to keep his breathing even and steady.

The concrete walls of the cell were freezing.

Gilbert let out a hoarse and broken laugh, his breath frosting white in the frigid air.

"Should've bashed his fuckin' skull in."

He curled up on his side, clutching his bruised hand to his chest, gazing bitterly at the cross shaped scar forever etched into his palm.

"Why won't you even let me see him, you fuckin' sadist?" he muttered softly, struggling to keep his voice sounding anything but utterly desolate.

The soundless, isolated cell threatened to smother him in the pitch black. Gilbert closed his eyes, feeling his consciousness slowly slide away from him into the inky darkness. He was always so cold in this goddamn place.

He cradled his injured hand.

"Please, God. Just let me see him..."

******

Gilbert awoke with a start to a loud clanging on the cell door. He blinked wearily at the guard glaring down at him.

"Comrade Braginski wishes to see you."

Gilbert yawned, rolling over on to his other side. "Not like I got many places to hide in here. Tell him to come on down and look all he wants. The creepy bastard should get a real kick out of that. I promise this time I won't try and make his big head fit through the bars.""

"You have two minutes," the guard continued, unfazed. "Please be ready."

Gilbert waited until he heard the door close at the end of the hall before cautiously rising to his feet, wincing as battered joints ached in protest. He slowly paced his cell, attempting to work some of the stiffness out of his muscles. The door in the hallway clanged open, soft boots sounded on the concrete floor before stopping in front of his cell. Gilbert turned to see Russia standing in front of the now open door, his usual smile once again plastered on his face. The tall man looked like he'd been shoved from behind headlong into oncoming traffic. Two black eyes stood out on his face in stark relief with the Russian's pale skin. His lip was still split down the middle, his nose gingerly wrapped in a splint, purple and green bruises covering almost every inch of his face.

Gilbert burst out laughing, eyes squeezed shut in mirth. "Damn, man! What happened to you? You get hit by a tank or somethin'?" he wheezed out after his laughing fit had subsided.

Russia merely wrinkled his eyes in amusement. "There is something I would like to show you, little East," he said cheerily. "I will let you out without restraints, so long as you promise to behave yourself. If you insist on acting up, we will afford you the same courtesy you so graciously bestowed upon me yesterday."

"Scouts honor," said Gilbert, throwing the Russian man a one-fingered salute. He strode through the cell door, doing his best not to wince as every step pulled at barely healed scabs. The two guards immediately moved to stand on either side of Gilbert, and he rolled his eyes. "Does scouts honor mean nothin' anymore?"

Russia only laughed merrily before gesturing for Gilbert to follow him. He led the younger man out of the cell block and into the main part of the building, pushing open the double glass doors to the outside. Gilbert followed the Russian, wincing slightly as his eyes struggled to adjust to the harsh glare of daylight after so long in confinement. Russia led him around to the back of the building, Gilbert following exactly ten paces behind.

"You know what?" Gilbert said suddenly, "Changed my mind. I'll take the dark and dank cell over followin' your blindin' white head around all day. I fear for my delicate constitution."

Russia turned to look over his shoulder at the other man, and grinned. "We will be there soon enough, little East. Please try and exercise a bit of patience."

Gilbert narrowed his eyes at the name, but continued to trudge along behind the taller man, eyes cast down to watch his worn boots drag through the cloying dust. Ahead of him, Russia suddenly stopped, and Gilbert raised his head to wearily ask if they were there yet.

He froze, his eyes fixed to the west.

Russia caught a glimpse of the younger man's expression and laughed in delight. "I'm so pleased you like it," he said cheerily, turning as well to examine his handiwork.

"W-what…" Gilbert swallowed heavily, staggering upright to walk slowly past the Russian in a daze, unable to tear his gaze from the thing in front of him. "What did you do?"

Russia watched the other man, his innocent smile becoming even more radiant. "I simply thought of a way to keep my promise to you," he said calmly, eyes shining brightly under the cold winter sun.

Gilbert sank slowly to his knees, one hand flashing up unbidden to clutch at his neck for a symbol that had long ago been cast aside.

"West…" he murmured in a choked and broken voice. "West…oh God…" Gilbert wrenched his gaze away, leaning forward to let his head fall to rest on the dusty ground of his former home. He closed his eyes and struggled not to be sick as he felt the Russian place an icy hand tenderly on the back of his neck.

"Now I will never lose you," Russia said softly, gently fingering a few strands of the silver hair at the base of the younger man's neck. "Never."

Gilbert took a deep breath, forcing unbidden images from his mind, steeling worn and weary nerves with an iron will. He rose to his feet with an animal like grace, letting Russia's hand fall to rest on his shoulder. He turned to stare at the taller nation with void, glass like eyes, before suddenly ramming his fist into the other man's jaw with a sharp cracking noise. The guards immediately shouted in panic, swarming over to where the two men were standing.

The last thing Gilbert saw out of the corner of his eye was the sight of the Russian crashing to the ground in a crumpled heap, a cloud of dust billowing up around him to blanket his immobile form. Pain exploded at the back of Gilbert's skull, and he felt himself slip into the welcome arms of nothingness.

But even as the cloying black overtook his vision, still the Wall loomed before him; its impassive face an unwavering presence lingering on the vestiges of his splintering mind.

******

Gilbert visited the wall every day. At first it was to examine it for weak spots, chinks in the armor, anything that he could use to his advantage. But as Russia grew tired of having to patch the thing up over and over again after numerous failed demolition attempts, the older nation began to make changes to the wall. Now barbed wire snaked its way along the top rim, the streets in front were ripped apart, guards patrolling the scarred lines. The number of watchmen increased to the point that Gilbert had to seek out the one least devoted to the cause, bribing his way through with whatever he could get his hands on just to even get close to the border.

As the years dragged on, his visits became fewer and farther between, his plans for mayhem and escape abandoned in the bottom of a rubbish bin. Whenever Gilbert did make his way to the wall, it was only to walk along the border, letting his fingers slowly trace the surface of the pitted concrete as he struggled in vain to remember why he had even come. He was slipping, slowly but surely slipping towards fading away. He could feel it like a clammy hand wrapped around his heart, could feel his consciousness becoming shadowed and haunted by what he could no longer remember. Every night he woke in a cold sweat, shaking noiselessly, terrified of an unnamed fear that crouched, coiling its lithe dark body in a forgotten corner of his mind. He could hear the voices of something or someone that called to him. They whispered to him things of the past, of battles and wars won and lost, etched into every fiber of his being. And every night, the voices grew louder, kept him from sleep with their stale promises of glories long forgotten.

It was on one of these restless nights that Gilbert awoke with a strangled gasp, wrenching himself upright out of a shallow sleep. His breathing came in short, panicked wheezes as he traced the scar on his palm with one rough thumb to ground himself in what he fervently hoped was reality. He sat like that for a moment, forcing his heart rate to return to normal, running one shaky hand through his sweat dampened hair. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, grabbing his overcoat as he headed out the door, some unknown force relentlessly driving him forward.

The guard he usually bribed was absent that night, so it took a bit more bartering, along with a fair amount of outright threatening, before the watchman would let him pass. The guard ignored him after that, wandering away to stand next to the other patrol man, the two of them striking up a conversation loud enough to drown out any other noise.

Gilbert leaned forward to let his head rest against the cold concrete, fingertips brushing against the chilled surface.

"I'm forgetting things," he muttered absently, closing his eyes in useless remembrance. "Important things. Things I think I wanted to tell you at one time or another. Things... I never did."

He remained still for what seemed like hours, the cold seeping through his overcoat to curl against his bare arms. He listlessly punched the wall with one fragile fist, ignoring the weak protests of his knuckles against the stone. He struck again, this time with a bit more force behind the blow, and hissed as a wayward piece of shrapnel dug into his finger, sending a bolt of searing pain up his arm. Suddenly, Gilbert was angry, angrier than he'd been in a long time, the shock of such a pure emotion ripping the gauze from his eyes. He grit his teeth, slamming his fist into the wall again, barely wincing as he felt his hand splinter from the impact. He switched to his left, throwing himself at the wall again and again as wordless yells started to take shape, becoming twisted and warped with pain as they poured out of him, curses and prayers melding into a deformed tirade of sound.

Gilbert collapsed against the wall, letting his now useless hands fall limply to his sides. His breathing came out in hash and labored pants, throat strained and raw from his outburst. Suddenly he froze, a quiet voice drifting from somewhere far away to alight softly next to him. He barely caught the edge of a word. "…you?"

He wearily rose to his feet, bracing himself with an elbow and forcing his eyes not to look at the damage he'd undoubtedly inflicted upon himself. "…Hello?" he called out hoarsely, wincing as the word scraped past this throat.

When no reply came, Gilbert sighed, leaning once again against the wall. "Not like I needed proof that I was goin' crazy," he muttered under his breath.

But then the voice sounded again, panicked and hopeful. Gilbert strained his ears to catch the faint sound.

"…is that you?"

Gilbert froze as the words continued to pour over from the other side of the wall, each one echoing back to tug at the ruins of memories lying buried underneath decades of snow-white gauze.

"Can you hear me?!" the voice said again, growing louder with barely concealed panic. "Answer me! Please!"

"I-" Gilbert swallowed heavily, "I can hear you."

The voice halted immediately, a moment passing in infinite silence.

"…Gilbert?"

The silver haired man felt his knees buckle at the sound of his own name, the soft baritone falling like a caress, smoothing out the rough and haggard fringes of his shattered mind. His shoulders scraped against the rough surface of the wall as he collapsed to rest at the base. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, and he hunched over, wrapping his arms around himself.

"W-West," Gilbert managed to choke out, throwing one arm across his eyes. "West, please…" his weary voice cracked slightly as he grit his teeth, struggling to hold back a sob that threatened to boil out from some broken place within him. "Please… just say my name again…"

There was silence from the other side of the wall, and then a sudden barrage of sound. "Gilbert, oh God. I never thought- Gilbert, are you alright? Answer me, please!" Ludwig begged quietly, a note of strained desperation edging its way into his voice. Gilbert closed his eyes, tilting his head back against the wall, drinking in the sound of the other man's voice. He gave a slightly hysterical laugh, burying his hand in his hair. "Fuckin' peachy," he ground out, furiously wiping at his eyes with the back of an unsteady and bleeding hand. "Where are you?"

"Over on my side. Stay there," Ludwig said, a hint of the normal commanding tone returning to his voice. "I'm going to get you out."

"How?" Gilbert asked wearily, "By busting through the Wall with that massive forehead of yours? Even your secret weapon has its limits, West."

"Please dispense with the false bravado," Ludwig murmured, his voice tense, "Your voice is betraying you."

"You don't say," Gilbert sighed, a worn out smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "And here I thought I had you fooled."

"Goddamn it, Gilbert!" Ludwig's voice drifted over the wall, a bastard mix of anger and panicked concern. "What am I supposed to do?"

"I'm not a damsel in distress locked up in some fuckin' tower," Gilbert said, pushing himself tiredly to his feet and turning to face the wall again. "I don't need you to come save me."

A moment passed, before Ludwig said softly, "Who said anything about saving _you_? I assure you, my actions are entirely selfish."

Gilbert laughed weakly, before calling out as loudly as he dared, "How close are you?"

"Follow my voice. I'm over here."

Gilbert walked slowly along the wall as Ludwig continued to speak, following the quiet, steady tone, stopping when the younger man's voice was directly in front of him. He leaned against the wall, pressing one palm to lie flat against the surface, letting himself believe he could feel the stone warm beneath his fingertips from his other half's touch on the other side.

"What are you even doin' here?" he asked quietly. "Don't tell me – you assassinated that blonde asshole and are makin' a daring bid for freedom. If that's the case, I gotta tell you: your sense of direction sucks ass."

A frail chuckle drifted over the wall. "I'm here… for probably the same reason you are."

"… So the voices in your head won't shut up either, huh."

"Please, please don't joke like that," Ludwig implored in a strained voice, "Not when you can't hear how broken you sound."

Gilbert sighed, "…Sorry."

"You're apologizing?" Ludwig sounded slightly amused, "The years really have changed you."

Gilbert smiled bitterly. "More than you'd wanna know."

There was a moment of silence from the other side of the wall before Ludwig spoke. "I never thought I'd see you again," he muttered, an angry note staining his voice red.

Gilbert chuckled softly. "Dunno what dictionary you're usin', but I wouldn't exactly call this seein'."

He could almost hear Ludwig smile. "You know what I mean."

Gilbert opened his mouth to respond, but his ears caught the sound of approaching footsteps. "I have to go," he said hurriedly. "I don't know when I'll be able to make it back. Russia's gettin' crazy paranoid with his rules."

"Gilbert, wait-"

"No time," Gilbert hissed, "Now shut up and go."

There was no response from the other side of the wall. A few seconds later, a guard walked up to tap Gilbert on the shoulder. "Time's up. I'm going to have to ask you to step away from the wall."

Gilbert pulled away reluctantly, feeling the warmth fade from the stone the moment his injured hand left its surface. He turned to follow the guard, lost in thought, relishing the feeling of old forgotten memories stirring to the surface. He gave a wicked grin.

He was back.

---------

End Note:

Woo. Angsty enough for ya? Don't' worry- this was the low point. … relatively speaking.

Sorry this was so long. I thought about splitting it up into a two-part chapter but… *shrug*. Got lazy. Deal.

Just one chapter to go…


	3. Chapter 3: CoDependency

-Author's Notes-

Please see chapter one for warnings and disclaimer.

I'm still struggling with chapter four, which is why it's taken me so long to post this. I wanted to do it in one, fell swoop, but there you go. It's been a week, and I figure enough is enough. Time to post something at least. *cringes*

---------

**Divided We Stand**

_Chapter Three._

_-Co-Dependency._

Gilbert pushed open the front door until a hairline crack of light shone through, drawing a thin white line on his black shirt. He peered through the small opening with one ruby eye, sighing heavily when he saw who had so brazenly knocked on his door at ten in the morning. Russia tilted his head to the side questioningly. "Are you going to let me in?" the tall man asked with a small smile.

"Sorry, 'fraid I'm not home," Gilbert said, warily eyeing the tall man. "Come by again never and I'll see what I can do."

Russia quickly moved forward to place one heavy boot between the door jam, his smile growing wider. "What hospitality. And after I so graciously removed you from that cell and provided you with your own home."

Gilbert's jaw tightened slightly, but he stepped away from the door to let it swing slowly open. Russia strode through the threshold, carefully wiping his muddy boots on the mat in front of the door before walking through the hallway to the kitchen in the back. He seated himself at the small kitchen table and peered down the hallway expectantly at Gilbert. The platinum haired man rolled his eyes, slamming the front door shut. "Hello, Russia," he said, voice dripping with poorly masked sarcasm. "Do come in. Please barge into my kitchen at this ungodly hour and mess up my carefully constructed feng shui with your freakishly large nose."

Russia said nothing, but pulled out the other kitchen chair, gesturing for the younger man to sit. Gilbert walked to the kitchen, dragging his feet and trying to resist the urge to surreptitiously turn on the gas burners, sneak out, barricade the door and throw a lit match on the whole damn house. Instead he calmly sat down in the chair, leaning back to balance precariously on the two back legs.

"So," he said casually, crossing his arms over his chest, "To what do I owe the displeasure of your company?"

Russia beamed. "Aren't you going to offer me anything to drink, little East?"

Gilbert just stared at the other man for a few seconds, and then stood, walking to the back to rummage around in the kitchen. He returned a moment later, carefully placing an empty glass and a bottle of bleach in front of Russia before settling back into his chair, propping his feet up on the vacant seat next to him.

Russia eyed the glass and bottle thoughtfully before pushing the two items aside, his mouth twitching upwards in an empty smile. He turned to Gilbert, "Very well then. I suppose you are curious as to why I am choosing to visit you after all this time."

"On the edge of my seat," said Gilbert, absently examining a ragged fingernail. "Please hurry. The suspense is killin' me."

Russia paused, as though remembering something. "Ah, yes. Firstly, I saw you on the news the other day."

"Really. Gotta tell you, I think the publicity's goin' to my head - I can barely keep my public appearances straight. Which particular incident are you talkin' about, exactly?"

"I believe it involved you driving a sports car headlong through part of my carefully constructed border."

Gilbert grinned, a look of delighted nostalgia sweeping across his face. "Ah, yeah. That one. Probably my best escape plan to date. They patch up that guard I flattened?"

"I heard he made a splendid recovery. Although I'm afraid he may be looking to extract some vengeance for the loss of his right hand," Russia said, absentmindedly running one finger along the rim of the empty glass in front of him.

"Sorry to hear that," Gilbert yawned. "I'll be sure to properly run him over the next time around. Thanks for the tip. Now if that's all-"

"You have undoubtedly heard about the young man who tried to flee from this great house of yours," Russia continued, blatantly ignoring the other man.

"Funny how you only call it my house when somethin' bad happens," Gilbert said idly, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands. "And? What about the kid?"

"He passed away this morning," Russia said calmly, brushing a spot of dirt from his coat. "Blood loss, I believe, was the ultimate cause."

Gilbert flicked his eyes to the side to focus on Russia's face. "I'd say," he said softly, in a voice that echoed with vicious intensity, "that bein' shot probably had more to do with it."

"Petty details, same outcome," Russia smiled, shrugging his shoulders in friendly exasperation. He stood to leave, nodding at Gilbert. "I just thought I should be the one to inform you."

Gilbert stood as well and walked past the Russian to head down the hallway to the front door. "Well, this was fun," he said calmly, opening the front door with a quick jerk, turning to face the taller man. "We really should get together more often."

Russia just smiled serenely, striding past Gilbert to leave. He paused abreast of the other man. "I would be very, very careful," he said in a cheery voice. "With things as they are, I would not be surprised if you lasted much longer."

"Well that's the plan, isn't it," Gilbert drawled, leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed in front of him, a bored look on his face.

Russia turned to stare curiously at him. "You really don't know, do you?" he said in slight wonderment.

Gilbert raised one eyebrow, "Man, are you ever gonna leave? Or do you plan to just stand here on my crap-shack doorstep spoutin' mystical bullshit the rest of the day?"

Russia chuckled, "So unaware of your own ignorance, little East. What do you think would happen to you should your most fervent wish for 'unification', as you so plainly put it, come to pass?"

Gilbert said nothing. Russia bent down slightly to look the other man in the face. "You'll disappear, little one," he said in a quiet, cheerful voice. "The stronger nation always prevails, and, as much as it pains me to admit it, your better half is simply that. Better."

Russia straightened, throwing one last beaming grin over his shoulder before strolling off down the long street. Gilbert watched the other man turn the corner before retreating back into his dive of a house, letting the door slam shut behind him. He walked over to the small desk by the kitchen table and reached into his back jeans pocket, pulling out a small scrap of paper. He fished a pen out of the dilapidated desk drawer and popped off the cap. With a small sigh, Gilbert scratched out one of the few remaining names on the list.

"Fuck," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Kid owed me money."

******

Gilbert inhaled the crisp fall air, grinning brightly as he made his way towards the wall, pulling his checkered scarf tighter around his neck. He hummed softly under his breath, the formless words misting white in the autumn cold. He kicked the loose stones and rubble out of his way, heading west. As he approached the wall, one of the regular guards strolled over, raising his hand in greeting. "Hey there, Herr Wei- uh… Comrade Weillschmidt. I'm afraid I can't let you get close today."

"Ah, geez. That's too bad," Gilbert said, pulling his hands out of his pockets and rubbing them together briskly in a futile attempt to stay warm. He quirked the young guard a grin, "Not even if I double the bribe?"

The guard's face fell, but then he straightened, his face set in stone. "I'm sorry. Things have been tense lately. I could lose my job, or worse. Please leave immediately."

Gilbert knit his eyebrows together, frowning slightly. "Guess I understand. Thanks for your time." He turned to walk away, before pausing. "Oh yeah," he said absently, "Just one more thing." He pivoted around, grabbing the guard by the shoulders and slamming his forehead into the other man's nose. There was a sharp snap, and the guard screamed in pain before Gilbert rammed his fist into the younger man's chest, knocking the wind out of him. The platinum-haired man smiled, a hint of feral madness in his ruby eyes. "Sorry 'bout that, kid," he drawled, throwing the now unconscious guard to the ground and dusting off his coat. "Desperate times and all that shit."

Gilbert broke into a run, sprinting towards the wall, banking on the now sparse scattering of guards to buy him some time before his comatose victim gained any attention. He finally reached the concrete barrier and hastily shucked off his heavy winter coat, throwing it up to cover the jagged edges of the barbed-wire that hugged the top of the wall. Gilbert stared upwards at the thing, the demon grin fading from his face for the first time in days. He steeled himself and shook his head to clear it before digging his fingers into the hairline cracks that streamed their way along the surface. He hoisted himself up hand over hand, his boots scraping against the rough surface, gingerly climbing over the portion of barbed wire that he had shielded with his coat. Gilbert stood on the top, stretching his arms above his head, resisting the almost overwhelming urge to look over his shoulder towards the west, afraid that the temptation would be too much for even his iron will.

He snorted derisively. "Probably been turned into a magical land ruled by kittens that barf rainbows and shit sunshine by now anyways," he muttered under his breath, shoving his hand in his pocket, pulling out a road flare and a lighter. He lit the flare and cocked his arm back, heaving it as far into his former house as possible. It left a path of barely visible wisps of smoke as it shot through the air.

There was a sharp whistle from behind one of the dilapidated buildings strung along the borders edge, and suddenly a horde of people streamed out from the abandoned alleyways. Gilbert watched his people swarm towards the wall, and forced a smile back onto his face. He had to do this.

Gilbert spotted his most promising protégé at the head of the pack, and he knelt down on top of the wall as the kid approached. He raised one hand in greeting, "Yo. You get in touch with the other side? They know we're comin'?"

The other man nodded, his dark blue eyes flickering warily from side to side, "Yes, but Herr Weillschmidt, we have to hurry. This is still technically illegal, even if the proceedings are moving along at a-"

"Fuck the proceedings!" Gilbert snapped, "I know how these kinds of talks work – as slow as Ausrtia runnin' a fuckin' marathon. Now stop standin' around and start boostin' people up here."

"But the other side still isn't-"

"If you don't get your fuckin' ass in gear I'm gonna come down there and make you _eat _your way through this goddamn wall!"

The kid visibly balked at Gilbert's commanding voice, and moved forward almost instinctively, pulling others with him.

A few of the more daring people in the crowd mimicked Gilbert's plan, throwing their coats, blankets, or whatever they could get their hands on upwards to drape over the top of the wall before scrambling over them. Anxious hands stretched upwards as others in the crowd boosted them up. Gilbert bent down to grab the first, yanking the person up without even bothering to look at their face. His vision became a blur of seeking hands, one after the other stretching up to grasp his. Gilbert's muscles began to ache with the strain, sweat pouring into his eyes as he hoisted one faceless person after another up and over the wall. He vaguely heard a muffled cheer as more people joined him on the top rim to help, but he ignored them, gritting his teeth as he felt the barbed wire finally work its way through his coat to bury itself in his knee. One of the helpers on his right was shouting, and Gilbert idly noted that whoever it was sure must love the sound of their own voice as the yells grew louder and louder, eliciting cheers from the still waiting crowd below.

Finally, Gilbert's thinning patience snapped and he stood angrily, still clutching tight to some random girl's hand. "Shut the fuck up! Save the sermon for after we get the rest of these shit-heads over!" he roared, whirling to his right to glare at the self-righteous asshole. The other turned at the same time, his mouth set in a thin line, brows furrowed in irritation.

Both men froze, and any further obscenities Gilbert had carefully selected to hurl towards the obnoxious asshole caught in his throat. Ludwig stood twenty meters away on top of the wall, a white button up shirt plastered to his skin with sweat, strands of blonde hair falling loose into his face to partially obscure wide, steel-blue eyes. Gilbert gazed at the younger man in shock, his normally extensive and sordid vocabulary failing him completely for the first time in his overly long existence. The irritating noises of the crowd faded into the background, filtered out as unimportant, uninteresting white noise.

Gilbert continued to stare blankly at the distant figure of the younger man, until a small voice beside him called out faintly, "Um… mister? Are you going to help me up?"

He started, blinking down at the young girl still clasping his hand, and gave a shaky breath, his head still reeling. "Y-yeah. Sure, kid. What am I supposed to do with you again?".

The girl was grimacing slightly in discomfort as Gilbert squeezed her hand too tightly. "Um… I'm supposed to go over there…" She pointed with her free hand.

Gilbert nodded distractedly. "Right then," he said absently, "Off you go." He unceremoniously hoisted the girl up and tossed her over the wall to the other side. She cried out in panic as she fell, volunteers at the bottom barely managing to catch her safely. One of them angrily called up to Gilbert, "Hey! Pay attention, asshole! You could've hurt her!"

Gilbert whirled to glare down at the other side. "Shut up!" he yelled, running his fingers through his dampened silvery hair in agitation, his vision blurry and unfocused as he tried to calm himself down. "Can't you see I'm havin' a moment here?!"

The crowd continued to yell at him, but Gilbert tuned them out, his eyes still fixed on nothing, unwilling to turn back around to face what he was sure had been just another product of his deranged mind. Just like all the others – like that stupid talking teacup that magically showed up every other Tuesday to play bridge with him and drink peppermint schnapps. God, he was fucking out of his mind.

Gilbert jumped slightly in surprise as a wayward escapee grabbed onto his ankle for leverage. "The hell?!" he yelled angrily, bending down to grab the offending child by the collar and hoisting him up to eye level. "Do I look like a fuckin' ladder to you?" Gilbert snarled. The kid stared up in horror at the red-eyed man, his lower lip beginning to tremble. Gilbert rolled his eyes and tossed the kid aside, where the volunteers shouted again as they scrambled to catch the falling child. Gilbert straightened, dusting off his hands as he muttered to himself, "Damn kids. Knew I should've made a law against unnecessary procrea-" he cut himself off as he turned to find Ludwig staring at him from across the wall, one eyebrow raised up almost to his hairline as he continued to help people over.

"What in God's name are you doing to those children?" Ludwig yelled, his voice barely audible over the din of the crowd.

Gilbert swallowed heavily, suddenly painfully aware of the fact that he had just hurled two innocent kids over a fifteen foot wall, and that this was, he reminded himself, generally frowned upon in normal society. He nervously licked his cracked lips. "Uh…" He mentally kicked himself. How could simple words suddenly be so hard to string together? "I…" Gilbert sighed in frustration. "…just tryin' to speed things up." he yelled, slamming the heel of his palm into his forehead in an attempt to cover his embarrassment. There were shouts from below, and Gilbert groaned in agitation, but bent down to help haul an old woman to her feet, his arms growing weaker and more exhausted with every one who crossed, his strength bleeding out of him along with his people.

He took a deep breath, and called out, "I thought you were gonna bust this thing down with that massive forehead of yours and sweep me off in style," he said, wincing when he stumbled over what should have just been meaningless banter.

Ludwig laughed loudly enough to fill the distance between them with the noise. "It's you, Gilbert," he yelled back, "If anyone could break down a wall with sheer stubbornness, it'd be you."

Gilbert tried to smirk, ignoring the headache that grew more and more excruciating with every one of his people that left his house. Tried to push aside the voices that grew more and more insistent. "Forgot what it was like havin' you around. Means I don't have to get my hands dirty," he called out instead, the harsh sound of his own voice making his head throb with pain.

"I thought you Prussians prided yourselves on your work ethic," Ludwig yelled back.

Gilbert's whole body was shaking from fatigue. "Didn't you get the memo?" he laughed mirthlessly, "Prussia's long dead."

There was silence from Ludwig's end of the wall, and Gilbert rose to his feet, red eyes flickering uneasily down the border to where the German man was kneeling. He swore under his breath. "Hell of a time to bring that up," he muttered. The red-eyed man ran an unsteady hand through his thinning, sweat dampened hair, and continued to stare down the wall to where Ludwig was still working, yanking people to their feet with more force than was strictly necessary.

"Then just who am I talking to, exactly?" the German finally asked, his dispassionate voice barely audible.

Gilbert's expression darkened for a moment, and he shifted his gaze to stare out over the barren ground of his former home. "I'll let you know once I figure that out," he said loudly, voice breaking with the strain of holding back his fears. Gilbert turned to gauge the blonde's reaction, and saw Ludwig almost drop the woman he was helping, his blue eyes distracted, ignoring the cries of pain from the people he was supposedly helping as he pulled them over the wall at an increasingly rapid pace.

"Hey!" Gilbert yelped, resisting the impulse to run down the wall and kick the blonde man in the face. "Those are mine, you asshole! Treat them a little more gently, would you?"

Ludwig stood, massaging his neck, snapping back, "For God's sake Gilbert, you just chucked two children over like they were armed grenades. Please try and maintain just a little bit of consistency."

"Overrated," Gilbert yelled, dropping to one knee to help the last escapee gain his footing before giving him a sharp shove on the back, sending the poor man reeling over the other edge.

"All clear over here!" Ludwig called out, gently lowering his last person safely on the western side. "How are things on your end?"

"Never better!" Gilbert said distractedly, bending down again to grab his now tattered jacket, slipping what was left of the thing over his freezing shoulders. He had to get away. Had to get out before any more temptations leaked their way through the thin cracks in his resolve.

"Gilbert, where the hell do you think you're going?" Ludwig's voice rang out, a hint of panic worming its way into the normally confident baritone.

Gilbert bent to lace up one of his worn boots. "Thought I'd just pop on over to Russia's house again and see how the sex-offender-to-be is doin'," he snarled. "Where the hell you think I'm goin'?"

"Don't be an ass!" Ludwig snapped, and Gilbert turned to see the younger man making his way gingerly along the top of the wall, skirting the snarls of barbed wire and sections of wall that had crumbed nearly to dust.

Gilbert's red eyes narrowed, and he stood to face the other nation walking towards him. "Not till they've all crossed, West," he shouted, his jaw clenched. "I still have my pride."

He could feel his resolution chip steadily away with every step Ludwig took, and he glanced down at the scar embedded in his palm, muttering to himself, "What's left of it, anyway."

With that, Gilbert vaulted over the edge, ignoring the panicked yells of the other man. He landed heavily, hissing between clenched teeth as his injured knee crumpled under his weight. He looked along the border and saw guards racing towards him, their muffled yells growing louder with every second. Gilbert grinned wickedly, ignoring the sun spots and stars of pain that ricocheted around his vision.

"Let's see how well you boys do when I've got a handicap," he shouted weakly, staggering to his feet and leaning against the wall for support. He pushed off and started running, the threadbare soles of his shoes slamming against the rough concrete. He laughed in vicious delight as the guard's panicked cries escalated.

"Take care of them for me, West!" he called out over his shoulder as he sprinted east, Ludwig's voice echoing faintly against the deserted buildings around him, the curses propelling him forward in a delightful litany of obscenities.

Gilbert focused on running, on the feel of his shoes biting into the ground, on the cold wind that stung his face and made his red eyes water. He cursed, wrenching his mind away from old memories of warm fingers on his chilled skin, dredging up instead images of his people's happy faces as they crossed, the sounds of their revelry as they reunited with those they had been separated from. His breathing came in harsh pants as he pushed himself to go faster, the crumbled buildings turning to gray blurs on the outskirts of his vision, the wall receding to a thin line behind him.

Ludwig's voice vanished completely as Gilbert skidded around a corner behind one of the buildings, barely remaining upright as his boots slipped on the coarse gravel road. He forced back a pathetic whimper of pain behind his teeth as his knee threatened to give out, and tried to pretend that the sick, twisted feeling building in his chest was one born from exhaustion and not from some other horrifying thing that threatened to erase him completely.

Gilbert drowned out all the ancient voices clamoring for attention inside of him with a wash of anger, letting the simple emotion take control and guide him further back into the vestiges of his ruined home.

He was tired of being so fucking selfless.

--------

End Notes:

Chapter four, the last chapter, will be posted some time soon. Unfortunately, it's being a problem child, and until I don't hate it, it's going to be staying where it is: in limbo on my computer. Please try and bear with me as I work through this, and thank you so much for your patience.


	4. Chapter 4: Delusions of Grandeur

-Author's Notes-

Thanks so much to all of you who stuck with this stupid thing that for some reason I have become so invested in. I still hate the ending with a fiery passion, but have resigned myself to the fact that I could never bring myself to change it. *dramatic sigh*

An extra hug goes out to S. Calvin for betaing this piece of crap. Honey, you are awesome.

Warning: Slight makeouts in this chapter. You done been warned.

And now. The gripping conclusion.

Enjoy.

----------

**Divided We Stand**

_Chapter Four._

_-Delusions of Grandeur._

Things always seemed to come full circle.

Russia was humming again, the cheerful noise echoing dully around the ancient and familiar ornate room. Gilbert resisted the urge to pick up one of the pretentious looking silver pens lying strewn across the oak table and slam it into the Russian's damn creepy violet eyes. He sighed irritably, dull red eyes flickering to the small splintered cross mark etched in the table, rubbing one thumb along the matching scar on his hand. His palms were sweaty, and he wiped them against his leg, mumbling his newfound mantra under his breath in a steady monotone. "For my people. For my people. For my people." He swallowed heavily, "God, I can't do this," he muttered, splaying his pale, skeletal fingers on the rough surface, forcing himself to calm down. "My people, people, _fuck_ the people," he recited monotonously, voice rough and scratched from too many bouts of insomnia.

Russia fell silent, his pallid violet eyes amused. "I wonder if they'll even thank you for this…," the older nation absently wondered out loud, tapping his foot against the tile floor.

There was a moment of tense silence before Gilbert flew to his feet, grabbing a chair and hurling it into the painstakingly crafted wall. The thing splintered on impact, sending up a cloud of pale yellow dust as the sharp edges of the chair tore into the plaster. Gilbert was breathing heavily, his eyes wide with panic. Bolts of pain exploded in the back of his skull, and he gave a small cry, pressing his hands against his temples to keep his head from splitting open. He sank to his knees, hunching in on himself as spasms wracked his gaunt frame.

Across the room, Russia laughed in delight, standing and moving over to where the weakened man was curled up on the floor. He crouched down next to him, the smile on his face widening. "Oh dear," the Russian said sympathetically, "It seems your iron will is not as steeled as you'd like it to be." He cocked his head to the side, "Are you sure you don't want to change your mind?"

"My will is fuckin' titanium," Gilbert spat out, rising shakily to his feet, still clutching at his aching head. He shoved the Russian aside and moved to sink back down into his chair, brushing yellow plaster dust off of the velvet surface before he did so.

Russia rose to his feet as well to sit next to Gilbert, fixing the younger man with an inquisitive stare. "I wonder what it'll be like," the violet-eyed man mused aloud. "After the treaty is signed, will you just turn into smoke? Or maybe you'll explode everywhere." The Russian sighed, "Goodness, I hope not. What a mess for the staff to have to clean up… Just like that time with Saxony..."

Gilbert stared blankly at the older man for a moment before turning away again, shuddering slightly. His mantra changed. "Anything's better than Russia. Anything's better than Russia. Anything's better tha-"

The door suddenly slammed open as three blonde men strode through the doorway, two of them bickering fiercely.

"Well you've had a bloody _actor_ as your boss for the past four years – it's no wonder you're so detached from reality!" England snapped, yanking out a chair from the table with a quick jerk.

America just laughed and slumped down in the chair England had moved. He grinned up at the heavy-bowed man. "You're just pissed 'cause you got your ass handed to you at that World Cup thing you Europeans are so obsessed with."

"I did not get anything 'handed to me'," England muttered bitterly, "Spain just got lucky, that's all."

"Gentlemen, please," France groaned, sitting down at the head of the table. "Flirt on your own time - preferably when I am not within a ten thousand kilometer radius."

Gilbert stared across the table at the three nations, eyes darting to the door for a moment before glaring at America. "What're all of you doin' here? The only thing keepin' this from this bein' a goddamn reunion is that skinny little Asian dude," he growled, a hint of menace lacing his tone.

"China," France supplied helpfully. "That 'skinny dude' is named China."

"I had tea with China the other day," Russia said offhandedly. "It tasted weird. Like grass."

"Thanks for the idiot news hour update," Gilbert snapped. He glared at the former Allied men. "Answer me. Now. What the fuck are you doin' here?"

An uneasy silence fell over the seated nations as England and America exchanged glances.

"…He asked us to," England said, folding his hands on top of the table.

Gilbert waited a few moments, but neither of the other two seemed to be willing to divulge anything more. "…Did I not use small enough words for you?" he asked, his patronizing voice dripping with sarcasm, "_Who_ asked you to?"

"Who do you think?" France droned, crossing his arms and leaning back into his chair. "Germany, of course. He asked us to keep you company until he could get here." The Frenchman's blue eyes grew troubled, "Of course, even if he hadn't, I still would have come." He sighed, rubbing at his sparse beard. "Antonio tried to make it, but his boss refused to give him the time off, even for something as monumental as... Well, he asked me to give you this, in any case."

France slid a bottle of orujo across the table. It shuddered to a halt in front of the platinum-haired man.

The blonde quirked a smile. "To old times, _mon ami." _His smile faded, as he said quietly, "I'd consider downing the whole thing if I were you."

Gilbert stared at the crystal clear bottle, his head beginning to throb again as he felt his mind spiral out of control. "What… what do you mean… West is comin' here?"

America cocked his head to the side in confusion, "Just what it sounds like." He turned to shrug at England, "You find anythin' confusin' about that?"

"Shut it, Alfred," England said softly, "For once your commentary is not needed."

America fell silent, glancing curiously at Gilbert before he averted his gaze. "…My bad," he said finally, crossing his arms over his chest.

Gilbert was still staring at the bottle of tequila, muttering to himself. "I don't want him to see this." He raised his head to glare at the other nations, the sudden wash of anger a welcome reprieve from the constant feelings of despair that were all he seemed to have left. "I don't fuckin' want any of you to see this," he spat out.

"I want to see," Russia said with a smile, "Public executions have lost their charm as of late."

"Bloody hell, Russia! Don't you have any compassion at all?!" England shouted angrily.

Russia blinked in puzzlement at the British man for a few seconds, before the door flew open with a loud bang, and Ludwig came rushing in, his suit jacked thrown haphazardly over his shoulder. "I'm here, I'm here," he said hurriedly, tossing his briefcase and jacket next to the door. "Herr Jones, they're just starting the-"

Ludwig trailed off as he finally looked away from America to see Gilbert sitting at the table, and his blue eyes turned soft and warm with an unrecognizable sadness.

Gilbert just stared back at the tall blonde, fury still blazing across his face.

"Get out," He said venomously, rising slowly to his feet. He glared around the room. "All of you! Just get the fuck out of here before I go all eighteenth-century on your asses!"

"Gilbert, calm down, I'm here to-"

"There's nothin' you can fuckin' do, West!" Gilbert yelled, "So you can just take your goddamn cronies and shove them up your–" His voice faltered as another barrage of pain knocked him to the floor, a small cry escaping him despite his best efforts to contain it. The world grew white before his eyes as he clenched them shut, biting his bottom lip hard enough to bleed, hands flying up to press against his head.

The pain faded excruciatingly slowly as Gilbert came back to himself, his breathing harsh and labored as he tried in vain to gather up the shattered bits of his consciousness, piecing them back together to form something that resembled a sane and sovereign nation. The platinum-haired man shook his head slowly, focusing on the overwhelmingly loud beating of a hammering heart to ground himself. The deafening sound gradually slowed to a steady and comforting cadence that echoed dully through him. Gilbert let himself fall into the rhythm, the sound blanketing his frail body in warmth. He allowed himself to selfishly enjoy a few more moments of blissful unconsciousness before reluctantly opening his eyes. He stilled, his own heart stuttering in panic. Two strong arms were wrapped around him from behind, a warm chest pressing into his back while a deep voice whispered incomprehensible words into his ear.

Gilbert wrenched himself out of the embrace, staggering clumsily to his feet as he whirled around, his eyes narrowed in fury. "Russia you goddamn mother fucker," he yelled. "I swore to God if ever you touched me again I'd-" The words caught in his throat.

Ludwig rose to his feet, a stricken expression on his normally impassive face. The two stared at each other for what felt like an age, unvoiced thoughts reverberating through the still air between them.

Gilbert suddenly turned to glance around the room. "…You kick them out?" he asked softly.

Ludwig nodded, taking a few hesitant steps forward as though afraid the red-eyed man would bolt like a wild animal. "I did," he said cautiously, stopping just in front of Gilbert. The blonde man gave a shaky smile, "I seem to remember something about you suggesting I shove them somewhere."

Gilbert just jerked his head in the direction of the door. "Then I recommend you follow their example," he said, moving to sit down at the oak table, propping his feet up on the scarred surface.

Ludwig just sat down next to the shorter man. "I can't leave," he said simply, resting his chin on his hand. "Not until this is finished."

"Hate to spoil the endin' for you, but let's just say it involves me either magically fadin' like a candle in the wind or explodin' like a fuckin' pipe bomb!" Gilbert snapped. He stood angrily, pacing over the iron wrought window. "What other outcome could there possibly be? Look at Bavaria! Look at Saxony! The only reason I'm still around is because of some big cosmological fuck up! " His voice stumbled, and he grabbed onto the window for support as another headache threatened to overtake him. "I mean, God, West," he said weakly, "You're practically a Frankenstein's monster of former demolished nations. What the fuck makes you think there's goin' to be an exception for me?"

Ludwig rose as well, his mouth set in a grim line. "I can't exactly control the circumstances of my birth."

Gilbert scoffed, "God, how egotistical are you? Then what on God's green earth makes you think you can somehow magically control this?

"Because I need you!" Ludwig yelled, grabbing the other man by the shoulders, hands gripping too tight with desperation. His anger drained in an instant as he stared down at the shorter man. "…I'm not like you, Gilbert," he said softly. "I can't survive on my own. Not like... not like I thought I could."

Gilbert furiously pushed away the other man's arms. "Stop with the romance novel bullshit," he said bitterly. "You've got the goddamn three musketeers practically fallin' over themselves to kiss your ass."

"…The circumstances being what they were, I hardly think it's surprising that we grew close-"

"Who gives a shit about circumstances!' Gilbert yelled, slamming his hand into the window frame. "Now get the fuck out of here!'."

Ludwig's jaw was set. "No."

Gilbert was going insane with pain and frustration. His vision started to blur around the edges, and he stumbled to rest against the wall. "Come on, West," his voice bitter with resentment. "A dyin' man's supposed to get his last wish. A dyin' nation should get at least the same."

"God, Gilbert…" Ludwig sounded like he wanted to be sick. He closed the distance between them with two quick strides. "Please…" he begged quietly, letting his arms fall to grab Gilbert's hands, drawing them up to his chest. "You can't just give up like this."

Gilbert felt the pent up rage and terror built beneath his skin suddenly vanish at the other man's touch. With it gone, he just felt hollow- the apathetic shell of a fallen kingdom.

"My time's up, West," he said softly, eyes focused on his pale hands lying flat against the taller man's chest. "I can just… just feel it, you know? Those voices that've been buggin' me for near half a century... I know who they are now. And damn," he chuckled weakly, "Damn, they're loud. Deafenin'. Hard for a man to even think." He raised his head to gaze up at Ludwig, carefully studying the younger man's face. Gilbert smiled, a shadow of the former devil in him making the edges of his mouth curl. "It's been fun, West," he said impassively, "But I'm done fightin' what I can't even see."

Ludwig just stared back for a moment, his steel-blue eyes clouded and unreadable. He pulled Gilbert's hands away from his chest, and turned them over to examine the deep scar etched into the otherwise flawless skin. "That day," he murmured, "I thought I was going to go insane. But I was a soldier. Like you were. Like we all were. I threw myself into rebuilding what I had so stupidly destroyed in my blind devotion, trying to forget about that half of myself that had been ripped from me." Ludwig ran his fingers over the delicate ridges of the older man's palm, and Gilbert struggled not to flinch away. Ludwig looked up, eyes soft with apology, before continuing.

"That night at the wall when you called out to me… you know that you're the only one who can call me 'West' like that and get away with it." His smile faded, replaced by something distant and haunted. "But you sounded so lost, so adrift. It terrified me. And that's when I knew."

Ludwig raised Gilbert's hand, blue eyes sliding shut as he gently brushed his lips across the deep scar embedded in the pale flesh. Gilbert shivered at the touch. Ludwig's lips ghosted over his skin, murmuring softly, "I can't let you go."

The blonde man opened his eyes slowly, gazing down at Gilbert with an intensity that made him forget for one breathless moment the ethereal threads of inevitability that tugged at him, drawing him ever closer towards the clamoring voices.

Gilbert swallowed heavily, freeing his hand from the taller man's grasp to bury it in the soft blonde strands of hair at the base of Ludwig's neck. He cautiously pulled the other man down to him, pressing his forehead against Ludwig's as he fought a loosing battle to keep at bay the damning words that threatened to spill past his lips. Some things should fade with him.

Gilbert wrapped his thin arm around Ludwig's waist, tugging gently to pull to younger nation to him. He pressed his fingers gently into the back of the other man's neck, feeling Ludwig give a faint sigh from his touch.

"Guess that makes two of us," Gilbert said, the words scraping past his throat as the voices tried to steal them from him. They were close enough now that he could hear their individual tremors, each one sweetly beckoning him to let go and entrust in the man before him all that he had savagely clung to for hundreds of years.

He started to shake, and Ludwig's arms pulled him even closer with an intensity born of desperation. The soldier in him had to fight tooth and nail to not break down and truly accept the comfort offered from the one person he wanted it from.

Pain suddenly shot up his entire body, searing through his nerves like wildfire, making him cry out in agony. Gilbert collapsed against Ludwig's chest, clutching to him like a drowning man, his eyes squeezed shut tight against the pain. The voices drowned out any other noise, save for the beating of his heart fluttering weakly against his ribs like a dying bird. He distantly felt Ludwig grab his hand, but that sensation too faded away as a dull covered him, stealing his senses one by one until all he could see and feel was white.

A single name hung suspended on dying lips.

But in a breath, it was gone.

And then...

there was nothing left.

******

Gilbert's eyes snapped open. He immediately wished they hadn't as his vision swam before him, making him feel even more nauseous than he already was. His senses slowly returned one by one, and he shook his head to clear it of the last lingering traces of white.

"Damn obnoxious color," he muttered to himself, wincing as his head ached slightly from his own voice reverberating around him. "Gotta remember not to use it in my next flag."

Gilbert cautiously raised his head, and blinked. There was a door in front of him. He turned around, but only saw a long, dark hallway stretching back towards God knows where. Gilbert rolled his eyes, grumbling, "Enough with the flimsy metaphors already." He turned back around to examine the heavy door in front of him, and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

"Well," he said resignedly, reaching out to press his hand against the oak surface, "No time like the present."

He pushed open the door and walked through, his shoulders squared, his steps proud and unwavering.

Gilbert blinked his eyes against the sudden glare, instinctively throwing up a hand to shield his face. "Whoa," he muttered, squinting into the pure, blinding light, "Didn't think I'd end up here."

His eyes slowly adjusted, and he looked around him, his eyes landing on one large object.

He stared in disbelief. "…You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me."

The large oak table loomed in front of him, the pitted surface still marred by that damn cross shaped mark. Gilbert hesitantly reached out, laughing in triumph when his hand made contact with the surface. He turned and kicked a chair, his smile widening as the thing clattered to the floor. Gilbert's mirth faded, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Well now," he spoke aloud to the empty room, sighing and scratching his head. "This is an unexpected turn of events."

There was silence. He sighed, muttering to himself, "At least when the damn voices were around I had someone to talk to… even if they were a bunch of dead countries with overly pretentious vocabularies."

A tall figure suddenly ran in through the open door, military boots echoing loudly on the floor.

"Who the fuck is in here?!" they snapped, and Gilbert turned to see Ludwig making his way towards him, the younger man's face an angry mask.

The blonde man froze when he spotted Gilbert, shock and horror vying for dominance on his face as it grew deathly pale.

"…Hey," Gilbert replied, the element of surprise robbing him of anything witty he would have liked to have said.

Ludwig's face curled upwards into an angry snarl, "Who the hell are you?" he demanded, storming forward to tower in front of the other man. "Who let you in here?"

Gilbert just stared up at Ludwig, a slow grin blossoming across his face. "Damn. It really is you, West…" he said, his voice catching slightly. "West… I-"

"Shut the hell up!" Ludwig yelled, furiously slamming the other man up against the oak table. "You are not allowed to call me that! Nobody is! Now you tell me who you are right now or I swear to God I will _make_ you tell me!"

Gilbert's eyes narrowed in wary suspicion. "This isn't a dream, right? Or some fucked up acid trip? You didn't follow the Netherlands and get any of that shit legalized, did you?"

"I have protected what was left to me," Ludwig spat out. "Now do as I say, or I will be forced-"

Gilbert suddenly reached out and snagged Ludwig's hand before the taller man had a chance to react, drawing it close to his face.

Ludwig attempted to pull his arm away with an angry growl, but Gilbert tightened his iron grip on the other man's wrist. "Stop fidgeting, West," he grumbled, trying to examine the other man's hand.

"Let go right now or I'll-"

"Baseless threats get you nowhere. Thought I taught you better than that," Gilbert muttered absently, prying open the taller man's hand to study the palm. His red eyes widened. "Well," he let out a weak laugh, "I'll be damned." Gilbert drew Ludwig's hand up to brush his lips against the younger man's palm, looking up with dark red eyes to gauge the other man's reaction. Ludwig jerked backwards, glowering down at him in speechless fury. Gilbert rolled his eyes, grabbing the blonde man's arm again.

"No, dumbass," he growled impatiently, "Look." He pressed their palms together, and then slowly drew them apart, casting a pointed look in Ludwig's direction. Ludwig glared back, but slowly, slowly his expression began to change. He glanced down at his hand with a guarded air, and blue eyes flew wide open in shock. Gilbert held up his own hand, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "This proof enough for you?" he asked quietly.

Ludwig's gaze never wavered, as he stared at the fresh but worn scar that marred his palm, bloodlessly marking him with the familiar shape. "I…" Ludwig looked up, his blue eyes rimmed with red, looking as though he'd aged a hundred years since the last Gilbert could remember. The blonde's throat bobbed as he swallowed heavily, "I… how…"

"Unity," Gilbert said simply, studying his own hand, marveling at how shallow his scar had become with a detached sense of wonder. "Splittin' the past fifty-fifty." He quirked one eyebrow at the blonde, "Either that, or we're both dead, and God's just enjoyin' fuckin' with us."

Suddenly he was in Ludwig's arms, the blonde man almost crushing him in a passionate embrace, his voice choked with emotion as he whispered Gilbert's name over and over again in a seamless torrent of sound that resounded through the lavish room. Gilbert pressed his face against the solid form in front of him, laughing in startled delight at the simple feeling of the younger man's arms supporting him.

"West… West, man, you're cuttin' off my air."

"I don't care," Ludwig muttered, tightening his grip even more as though afraid Gilbert would fade away again. "Just tell me that it's actually you."

Gilbert snorted, although the sound lacked its normal caustic edge, "Know anyone else capable of stayin' in the same room with you for more than five minutes without blowin' their brains out just to escape your overbearin' personality?"

Ludwig laughed weakly, reluctantly letting go of the older man to cover his face with his hand. "Only one other, actually. Although he's significantly less abrasive than you are."

Gilbert rolled his eyes, boosting himself up to sit on the edge of the table. "You say abrasive, I say uncompromising. Gotta pick your words carefully, West, or else you might hurt my feelings."

"I knew I shouldn't have gotten you that thesaurus. It was a headache waiting to happen," Ludwig groaned in exasperation, an unguarded smile still lingering on his face.

"So, why the hell'd you just try and kill me just now?" Gilbert raised an eyebrow, "Some historical accuracy complex hauntin' you?"

Ludwig flushed slightly, "I wasn't expecting the treaty they signed today to actually do anything. So I, uh…" he said awkwardly, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked off to the side, "I… didn't recognize you."

Gilbert blinked. "The hell you talkin' about?"

Ludwig sighed, and moved to grab the older man by the shoulders, steering him towards the large windows that lined the room. He parked Gilbert in front of one of the glass panes that had been thrown into shadow by the early dusk and took a step back. Gilbert studied himself in the reflection, blinking in surprise at what he saw. Gone was the gaunt skeleton of an unwanted nation that had stared accusingly back at him for years on end; his red eyes no longer dull and sunken, but pulsing with a vibrant light that made his whole face look alive and devious. Gilbert reached up to cautiously poke his forehead, tugging at his bangs. He exhaled in relief when none of the silvery strands came loose in his hand. Gilbert turned around to look up at Ludwig, eyes shining with mirth. "Didn't recognize me, huh?" he smirked, stepping forward to press himself against Ludwig, eliciting a sharp gasp of surprise from the younger man. His smirk intensified, and he reached around to languidly drape his arms over the taller man's shoulders. "Sure you didn't just feel threatened by my overwhelmin' sexiness?"

Ludwig's cheeks flushed, but his face remained impassive. "Hardly," he muttered. "I draw the line at necrophilia."

Gilbert gave a startled bark of laughter, but gradually his expression fell, brows knitting together in thought. He took a step back, all traces of humor suddenly wiped from his face. He walked around the table to perch on the edge again, resting his elbows on his knees. "So," he asked quietly, "what exactly happened?"

There was silence from across the room, then the soft sound of footsteps as Ludwig made his way over to sit a carefully measured distance from the other man. The blonde gave a shaky sigh, his eyes focused on the tiled floor. "You never even made a sound," Ludwig said dully, his hands gripping the edge of the table, turning his knuckles white. "Just… one minute you were there, and then it was like you never were." Ludwig turned to stare at Gilbert's proud profile, his smile embittered. "I blinked, and my damn arms weren't even warm anymore. And suddenly… I felt whole. Whole but… gone. Like a broken box put back together, but with nothing in it."

"…How long?"

"Twenty-one days."

Gilbert chuckled dryly, "So, what? You sayin' I'm a zombie or somethin'?"

"What I'm saying is, I barely remember that month." Ludwig rested his chin on his hands, "It was just… so different. More raw and empty than not being able to see you or hear you. Not being able to touch you." The blonde let out a shaky breath, running his hand restlessly through his already disheveled hair. "I honestly have no idea how you did it. How you survived for forty years like that. Alone." Ludwig's face darkened with calm fury, "I still can't look Russia in the eye without wanting to break him down to atoms for what he did to you."

Gilbert shifted slightly, before hesitantly laying a hand on top of the other man's knee. "I'm sure if we put our heads together we can come up with some kick-ass Machiavellian plan to rearrange his face. Don't worry about it."

Ludwig shifted cautiously to face the older man. "For those twenty-one days, there was one thing that selfishly haunted me," he murmured, tentatively reaching out to rest his hand against Gilbert's cheek. "One thing I could never forgive myself for never daring to do."

Gilbert's eyes flew open in surprise as Ludwig suddenly leaned forward almost impulsively to close the distance between them, pressing his lips against the older man's in a soft, chaste kiss. The blonde man pulled back abruptly, his face a bright crimson. Gilbert just stared at his counterpart as Ludwig buried his face in his hands, the tips of his ears, flush with embarrassment, all that was visible behind his rough hands.

"G-Gilbert," Ludwig said shakily, giving a deep breath and standing. "I'm sorry," the blonde said stiffly. "That was unprofessional of me. You haven't even been here five minutes and I'm already making a mess of everything. We should head to the conference room. I'm sure our boss will want to ta-"

"Ludwig."

The nation's true name sounded foreign on his tongue. Gilbert rose to his feet, his jaw set as he twisted his hand in the blonde's shirt, yanking the taller man around to shove him back against the edge of the table. Ludwig opened his mouth to protest, but Gilbert cut him off. "Shut up," he said quietly, hooking his finger in the loop of the other man's tie, "I'm sick of talkin'."

Gilbert yanked Ludwig down, crushing his lips against the younger man's in a searing kiss. His body was moving almost against his will, casting off the memories of a bitter eternity of rage and isolation, where all was conquest and betrayal and blood and war. Gilbert could feel Ludwig dig his fingers into his back, the blonde struggling to keep from falling into the table as the platinum-haired man pressed up against him.

Gilbert suddenly took a step away from Ludwig as he tugged roughly on the younger man's tie, pushing him backwards to fall gracelessly into one of the ancient plush velvet chairs. Gilbert studied Ludwig's flushed face for a moment with red eyes gone dark with hunger, before lowering himself to straddle the younger man's lap, the added height allowing him an uncompromised view of the other man's face. He languidly ran his hand up the surface of the broad chest in front of him, feeling Ludwig shudder under his fingertips. Gilbert smirked, and leaned down to murmur softly against the younger man's lips, "Can't believe I waited so long to do this… "

Gilbert captured Ludwig's lips again, feeling the younger man bring his hands up to rest on his waist, thumbs tracing sharp lines over his jagged hip bones. He arched his back as strong hands hesitantly traced the surface of his skin.

For the first time since he could remember, there was no chorus of ancient voices in his head, no blistering pain robbing him of his sense and of his senses. He basked in the serenity, closing his eyes and tilting his head back to let Ludwig press his lips against his collarbone, the blonde man whispering his true name against the pale skin of his throat.

It didn't last long.

"WHAT THE SAM HILL ARE YOU TWO DOIN'?!"

The horror-struck voice made Ludwig jump out of his chair, his face a vivid crimson. Gilbert rose from where he had been knocked to the ground, nursing his injured pride. He glared up with murderous intensity at whoever it was that had dared interrupt him.

America stood in the doorway, his eyes clenched tight and his palms pressed against his ears. Gilbert glowered at the over-zealous nation, irritated that the American couldn't see his patented death gaze.

"Can I open my eyes now?" America yelled, his eyes still scrunched shut behind his glasses. "You guys aren't gonna start… straddelin' each other again, are ya?"

Ludwig gave an irritated sigh, but called out in a calm voice, "No, Herr Jones. We'll do our best to restrain ourselves."

"Speak for yourself," Gilbert muttered. At Ludwig's glare the platinum-haired man crossed his arms, leaving his blonde counterpart to deal with the panicked American.

America slowly opened one eye, as though making sure no more illicit activity was going on in front of him before he straightened, lowering his hands to his side and giving a weak chuckle. "Uh… Lud. Your boss was lookin' for you," the American's voice was pitched higher than normal, his blue eyes focused pointedly on the wall behind the other two nations as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

Ludwig glanced down at Gilbert, but the other man just shrugged his shoulder, his face a carefully constructed mask of indifference. Ludwig sighed again, and turned to face the American. "I'll be right there," he said calmly, straightening his tie with all the dignity he could muster, running his hand through his hair in an attempt to coax the disheveled strands back into their normally rigid style.

Gilbert just continued to glare impassively at the intruding nation, and America shifted uneasily under the older man's scrutiny. "He-hey there, uh… you," the blonde said hesitantly, as though still trying to get rid of the mental image of what he had unwittingly stumbled upon. The American gave an unsteady laugh, "It's uh… good? Yeah. Good to see you're back. Guess that reunification treaty thing worked after all. Well, sorta. In a way." He slowly backed out of the room, still babbling semi-incoherently, "Should I uh… Should I go on ahead and let them know you're comin'?" America paused, grimacing slightly as he quickly amended, "To the meetin'. Comin' to the meetin'."

Ludwig gave an irritated sigh, and snapped, "Just get out of here, Jones."

A look of relief washed across the American's face, but the young nation attempted to hide it with a relaxed smile that only served to make him look disturbing. "Cool, cool. So I'll uh… see you two there. Together. Coincidentally." With that, America turned on his heel and all but bolted from the room.

The two older nations glanced at each other, the color of Ludwig's face slowly returning to normal. Gilbert groaned and sank into one of the chairs, pressing his hand into his forehead to try and suppress his frustration. "I can't believe I'm sayin' this," he ground out, "But I'm almost glad I had to deal with Russia instead of that train wreck of a nation."

"Jones isn't all bad," Ludwig said, his embarrassment fading fast as he straightened his crooked tie. "Just… exuberant."

"He's fuckin' nosy," Gilbert ground out, rising to his feet and heading towards the door, "No surprise he's always getting' himself caught up in other people's wars."

Ludwig took a few quick steps to catch up with the other man. "Kirkland usually does a good job of reigning him in," he supplied helpfully, "If you get too irritated at meetings, just try and stick close to England."

Gilbert rolled his eyes, "Goody. Stuck in a jam-packed room playin' 'Who Can I Resist Murderin' for God knows how long 'till our bosses get this mess straightened out."

Ludwig suddenly reached into his pocket and pulled out a small object wrapped in a white cloth. The blonde bent to grab Gilbert's hand, gently pressing the item into the older man's hand. Gilbert raised one pale eyebrow at the other man, but Ludwig just smiled enigmatically, offering no explanation.

Gilbert rolled his eyes, but opened his hand to unwrap the thing. He froze when his fingers met cool metal, and he ripped the cloth off to find the small iron cross resting solidly in his hand, flecks of old, dried blood still caked on the back surface. Gilbert swallowed heavily, and looked up at Ludwig, ruby eyes wide with confusion. "…How did you-"

"I found it embedded in that damn table. Had to use a knife to pry it out," Ludwig said, plucking the cross out of Gilbert's hand and fished a chain out of his pocket. He threaded the chain through the small loop on the back of the piece of metal, and placed it back into Gilbert's still outstretched hand. The blonde stared at Gilbert with a grave expression on his face. "You've no idea how glad I am to be rid of it again," he said quietly, "It's quite a burden to bear alone." Ludwig reached up around his neck to free his own cross from where it was nestled hidden under his uniform, holding it up in the light for only a moment before tucking it away.

Gilbert just stared at the other man before wordlessly slipping his own chain over his head. The cross hung there, a solid weight against his chest, resting over his pounding heart.

The years of wretched isolation, of dreaming and loathing the voice of unity, of having to put his trust in destruction, chaos, suffering and anguish - all embodied in one, stupid piece of metal. He fuckin' hated the thing. Hated how every time he looked at it, all he could see was the one who made him, the ones who had faded before him. His scar. The scars they had so willingly inflicted on others.

Gilbert took a deep breath, and looked up into the resolute face of his other half.

"I can't call you West anymore, can I?"

"Gil…"

"Well, thank you, anyway," Gilbert said simply, twining the thin chain through his pale fingers. "Whoever the hell you are."

Gilbert glanced up at Ludwig out of the corner of his eye. The blonde's face was a deep red again, and he looked mortified enough for both of them. But slowly, slowly, a hesitant smile began to bloom across his face as Ludwig turned and walked purposefully down the hallway.

"He-hey!" Gilbert yelled, running after the taller man. "What the hell, West? Almighty me has decided to shower you with my graces and you just fuckin' turn around and leave?"

"I am choosing to ignore you for the moment," Ludwig said, his tone brisk and businesslike. "Clearly being dead for a time, however brief it may have been, has vested you of any semblance of both physical and mental self-restraint."

"You're sayin' that like it's a bad thing. Remember, some of my best ideas came from when I was sufferin' from noted bouts of spontaneity."

Ludwig rolled his eyes, "If by 'best ideas' you mean those drunken cavortings you used to go on with France and Spain, then yes."

The two continued to walk leisurely down the hallway, bantering back and forth, the backs of their hands covertly touching as their voices mingled in the still and dusty air.

The door swung shut to hide the ancient oak table from view, the sound lost beneath the loud echoes of bright laughter.

******

The two halves stood in front of an imposing set of double doors. Gilbert fiddled irritably with the tie around his neck.

"Damn monkey suits," he grumbled, "Don't know how the hell you can stand them."

Ludwig sighed and reached down to push the other man's hand away from his neck, "You spent dozens of years wearing that uniform of yours. I fail to see how this is any different."

"It's the principle of the thing," Gilbert said sullenly, fixing his jacket collar with a hint of resentment. "A business suit doesn't exactly strike the fear of God into any hearts now does it / have that same bad ass flair, you know?"

The two fell silent, before Ludwig asked quietly, "You're sure you're ready to do this?"

Gilbert rolled his eyes, "Two weeks of bein' cooped up as your personal sex slave is enough, Lud. People are startin' to talk."

Ludwig groaned, massaging his temples, "There has to be a better way of saying you're just taking advantage of my hospitality."

"Man slave?" Gilbert suggested, "Or wait, that'd probably be the other way around. 'Man master' doesn't have the same ring to it, though."

Ludwig coughed discretely, "…So I was thinking we'd try and set you up in a condo. Or an apartment. A bomb shelter could work too."

"Wait, by myself? That's cruel, West," Gilbert complained.

"I would offer to buy you a cat or something if I weren't so sure it would inexplicably end up in your garbage disposal or locked inside your refrigerator," Ludwig said dryly.

"Hey," Gilbert protested, "I'm damn good with animals. Remember that little yellow chick I used to take care of?"

"… You ended up barbequing it."

Gilbert laughed, "You thought _that's_ what happened to it? Nah, man. I shipped it off to Hungary. She acts all tough, but it's almost too easy to win her over with cute things. Think those kinds of tactics will fly in here?"

"I do not believe so. But just please remember to act with a bit of decorum," Ludwig requested, although his voice sounded anything but convinced that he would be taken seriously.

"Decorum. Right..." Gilbert said slowly, before suddenly turning to kick open the double doors, shoving his taller counterpart into the conference room.

Gilbert strode in after the stumbling man, a wicked smirk slashed across his face as he stared back in amusement at the startled faces of the nations sitting before him. "Quake in fear, you tiny fools!" he crowed, latching on to Ludwig's arm to help keep the blonde man from collapsing in shame. Gilbert saluted rakishly with his free arm, smirking elatedly at the stunned gaggle of countries seated around the conference table.

Now what was their name again?

Oh, yeah.

Gilbert grinned.

"The Bundesrepublik has officially arrived!"

----------

End Notes:

Bonus points if you can spot the Rocky Horror reference. I couldn't resist.

Again, thank you all so much for reading. It means so much to me... Seriously. I'm bad with words, so I'll stop there.

If you're looking for something without such a cookie-cutter ending, rest assured that 'Porzellan' will be anything but. Pardon the shameless plug.

Now... go plant a tree or something. Shoo!


End file.
